


and out of the blue (i fell for you)

by leatherandlace



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, but then gets soft, so angsty but also soft, the move in fic we deserve, this is dark at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 13:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20359117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leatherandlace/pseuds/leatherandlace
Summary: nat doesn't ever let maria into her apartment, but she's happy when she finally does.





	and out of the blue (i fell for you)

**Author's Note:**

> the fic title is from butterflies by kacey musgraves, the resident queen of blackhill. 
> 
> come talk to me on my mcu twitter: pinkjacquelyn
> 
> thanks for reading!

_ i. _

  
  


“Hey, Nat?” Maria’s voice is soft and deliberately non-combative, and that in itself puts Nat on guard. 

They’re laying on Maria’s couch, Nat’s head on Maria’s shoulder and Nat playing with her hair as they watch some random TV show. They had had takeout, and Natasha felt genuinely so relaxed and at home, safe. Which is why she was a little taken aback at Maria’s inquisitive voice.

“Why don’t you ever let me over your apartment?” Nat stills in Maria’s embrace, thankful Maria can’t see the panic written all over her face. 

It was a good question. One Nat knew was coming soon at some point, though she’d rather have pretended it wouldn’t. Here’s the thing about her apartment: it’s a place where she goes to self-destruct, a place where she would isolate herself and pretend she didn’t exist and go through the motions of all the issues and destructive habits she’d collected throughout her life of ballet academies and pain. Her apartment was Hell, and Maria was the closest thing she’d ever had to Heaven, and mixing the two felt like oil and water, forever separated. Or maybe it was like fire and gasoline, igniting her life and resulting in nothing but more pain and suffering. Either way, Nat steered Maria away from ever setting foot in her apartment. It was bad enough that Maria had walked her up to her dilapidated doorstep a few times, giving her a weird, pitying look that stirred something ridiculously close to shame inside of her. 

Nat didn’t  _ ever  _ want Maria to see the outside of her apartment, much less the inside. She didn’t want Maria to look around the small, one bedroom apartment, just shy from being uninhabited. Nat kept it like that on purpose, no trace of personality, empty and hollow. It was easier to pretend she didn’t exist when her environment seemed to mirror her emotions, easier to act like she was nothing and her past was nothing when there were no frames on the walls, no knick knacks scattered on kitchen counters. She didn’t even have a kitchen table. Even if she did, what would she eat? Her cupboards were empty, and the only things inside of her fridge were a head of lettuce, a bottle of Smirnoff, and leftover sweet potatoes Pepper had boxed for her after she had dinner over there a week ago. 

  
  


Other than her bare bones collection of toiletries and closet space, the only thing Nat calls her own is the box she keeps under her bed. It has a few pictures, memories of all the different lives she’s lived. A colored picture of her and Morgan that Morgan drew for her, a picture of Maria smiling all lovingly at her, an old pair of ballet slippers, creased postcards, notes from Tony. Little collections of paper that made the apartment hers.

  
  


What would Maria even say if she saw where she kept herself? What could Maria  _ possibly _ even say? Nat spent most of her nights at Maria’s anyway, has never really thought of her apartment as home. 

  
  


But Maria was bound to ask at some point. 

  
  


Nat starts to shift in Maria’s embrace, suddenly uncomfortable and feeling like a deer in headlights, self doubt and shame crawling under her skin.

  
  


“Hey, hey--Nat, I’m not upset,” Maria can feel Nat’s heartbeat picking up its pace, her mask of stoicism sliding into place. “I just was wondering. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

  
  


_ Right now _ . A subtle reminder that they were in a relationship, that Nat couldn’t ignore things indefinitely, that Maria was there to talk to her and hold her and not to put her on the spot and judge her. Nat nodded to herself, sinking back into Maria’s arms and focusing on playing with Maria’s fingers. For just a second, dragging her touch along Maria’s knuckles and palms was enough to drown out the panic alarms in her mind. Eventually, though, the lump in her throat subsided. “My apartment is where I go to self-destruct, and...you make me happy. I don’t want those two to mix.” Her voice was low and Maria couldn’t have heard it if Nat were any farther away than essentially on top of her. 

Maria drops it, peppers the top of Nat’s head with little kisses. She lets Nat’s breath return to normal, and eventually they drift off to sleep on Maria’s couch.

Maria wishes she could tell her, but she’d demolish Nat’s apartment and build it back up herself if it meant Nat wouldn’t be upset anymore. 

  
  


She’d do anything.

  
  


_ ii. _

  
  


Maria doesn’t ask again, and Nat assumes she won’t, not until Nat decides to eventually bring it up. 

She didn’t think she ever would, thought that she’d eventually faze the apartment out of her life until she basically lived at Maria’s place--that way they’d never have to speak of it again. What she didn’t bet on was how bad her day was going to be, how everything seemed to have gone wrong and everything seemed to remind her of memories she’d long since pushed down and actively worked to suppress. Everywhere she turned she’d smell gasoline from the fires she’d started, faces of the people she’s killed in every passing stranger, the sharp voice of Madame B in the intercom on the subway. 

  
  


The day and her past grated on her, and she felt nothing but exhaustion, nothing but an anxiety crawling up her throat when she unlocked her apartment and sunk down onto the sole armchair in her sitting room. It took her twenty minutes to make herself get up and pull on sweatpants, and another thirty to make her way to the fridge, realize she had nothing in there, and collapse back onto her armchair. Memories of nightmares passed pressed on her shoulders, and all she wanted was to not be alone, to feel the presence of someone else other than the memories bubbling up and flickering in front of her. 

  
  


Her hands shook almost too much to find Maria’s contact and press the phone up to her ear. 

  
  


“Hey, Nat,” Maria’s voice was a little hesitant, not expecting a call on the days Nat went home to her own apartment.

  
  


The sound of Maria’s voice was almost too overwhelming for Nat, too safe and comforting and out of place when stacked up to all the voices in her mind she’d been alone with for hours. 

  
  


“Um, hi.”

  
  


“Are you okay?”

  
  


Nat’s eyes were shut tight, and she imagined she looked pathetic, curled up in her armchair and gripping the phone as if the people and things she willed herself to forget were all standing in her living room. “Can you please come over?”

  
  


“I’ll be right there.”

  
  


_ iii. _

  
  


Maria was sort of expecting something desolate and reminiscent of Nat’s days on the run, empty alcohol and pill bottles on the counter, maybe a little messy. She was expecting something sad, a physical manifestation of all of Nat’s insecurities. 

  
  


She was nervous when she knocked on Nat’s door, but that was nothing compared to the worry over how Nat was feeling, the worry that wouldn’t ebb since hearing Nat’s voice on the phone, hollow and cracked.

  
  


Nat looks beautiful when she pulls the door open, she always does, but her eyes aren’t all there, looking at Maria with such a sadness that Maria can almost feel the fear and pain in them. Nat looks almost embarrassed as she steps aside and lets Maria in. She watches Maria briefly look around, watches as Maria softly frowns at the lack of pictures and furniture and personality. Maria can’t help but completely understand why her girlfriend has been spending her nights at Maria’s apartment--this place isn’t Nat.

  
  


Natasha’s lips are quivering and the tears are glassy in her eyes, and Maria whispers, “Oh, baby--” before gathering Nat up in her arms and letting her fall apart in the embrace. 

  
  


Maria holds Nat the way she knows she needs, strokes Nat’s hair and breathes soft encouragements into her ear. Nat once told Maria that she made her feel safe, and Maria is hoping she’s doing that now, hoping that she can help take even a little bit of the pain away.

  
  


Nat leads them to her bedroom, just as emotionally desolate as the half kitchen, half living room. Maria tips them onto her bed, the covers pulled over them, and Natasha’s cries have quieted to soft little hiccups, her breath shaky against Maria’s chest. She runs her hands up and down Natasha’s back as she looks around. It’s jarring, how cold this apartment is. Sure, she expected it, but of course expecting it and seeing it are two different things. 

  
  


This apartment is like Nat when they first met, cold and distant and locked in her own mind. It’s not the Nat she knows now, the one who smiles so brightly and makes all the best jokes and sings along to all of her favorite songs, the one who dances with Morgan, who does karaoke with Tony on Thursday nights, who tells Maria she loves her with the most genuine,  _ genuine  _ smile. This apartment isn’t Nat, not at all.

Maria looks down at the woman in her arms, the woman she loves, and looks back at the cold, unforgiving room she lived in. It didn’t feel right. None of this felt right.

She licks her lips, tugging Nat up to look at her. Nat isn’t crying anymore, just slow breathing into Maria’s chest, her chin tipped up and looking right at Maria. “Nat--” Maria starts, a rush of emotions suddenly overcoming her at the raw, vulnerable eyes staring back at her. 

“Nat, I don’t know if this is the wrong thing to say but...come live with me.” Nat’s eyebrows tilt upward, and for once Maria can actually read what she’s thinking, can see the doubt and the excitement in her features. “You stay the night most days of the week, anyway. Most of your things are at my place.”

Natasha wipes her eyes and sits up, placing a hand on Maria’s chest and getting a better look at her. Her voice wobbles and shakes, her grip wavering, “Are you serious?”

Maria can’t bite back the smile that breaks across her face at Nat’s look of hope, and she reaches up to stroke her cheek. “This apartment, it’s not who you are now. You’re not alone anymore, you have me, and I want to share my home and my life with you, all the time. Please, Natasha.”

And she’s expecting more resistance, but Nat nods slowly into her chest. Natasha can  _ feel  _ the  _ weight _ lifted off of her chest, knowing she never has to come back and sleep in this filthy, empty apartment ever again.She leans up to kiss Maria, one hand on her cheek and the other on the back of Maria’s neck, and then springs out of bed.

Maria doesn’t know why she expected anything less, but Nat immediately pulls an old suitcase out of her closet and starts folding her clothes. They pull things off of hangers and put them in the suitcase, Nat’s smile overwhelmingly beautiful and radiating happiness and relief and love. 

Nat sits on the suitcase while Maria zips it and teases her for not helping cause she’s too small, and Natasha is struck with how utterly odd it feels to be laughing in her apartment. Maria wheels the suitcase onto the ground, and Nat leans down to slide the box of memories she keeps under her bed, tucking it under her arm. Maria doesn’t ask about it--she knows Nat will tell her one day.

As they leave, Nat doesn’t even give her apartment a glance goodbye.

  
  


_ iv. _

  
  


It’s not a hard transition when Nat moves in. They’d been living as if they were sharing the space already, except now it felt more real. Nat felt comfortable and happy at how official it all was, being able to say she lived with Maria. She liked sharing the closet, stacking their shoes next to each other, the fridge having all the foods Nat occasionally craves. 

Maria likes living with Nat. There’s a certain sense of pride she feels, getting to be with Natasha.

There’s also a diamond ring in the sock drawer, but that’s for a different day, she thinks.


End file.
